Feb. 19, 1910.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
291 
tains that form the Katahdin range, all glisten¬ 
ing in the sunlight, being covered with a light 
mantle of snow, for yesterday’s rain in the val¬ 
leys had been snow in the mountains. At the 
foot of the lake the steamer was met by a 
backwoodsman arrayed in a green toque and 
red sweater, who, with a two-horse sled was 
ready to take the canoes and dunnage over to 
Ripogenus Lake. This was but a short carry 
of half a mild' when the canoes were again 
headed for the night’s camp, which was a little 
settlement of log cabins known as Thomas’. 
Here was an example of what education and 
refinement can do in the woods, for every cabin, 
no matter how small, was built in rustic log 
style and every one was placed on the crest of 
a knoll which commanded a view of the lake 
and a vista of Katahdin, for looming up in the 
distance past a corner of the opposite moun¬ 
tain was the big peak itself, and increasing in 
size and stature as the traveler drew near. 
A general. scramble took place in camp the 
next morning, for there were four canoes and 
their owners bent on going down stream, and 
the first task of the day was a three-mile carry, 
too long for a human lug. The sled driver had 
agreed to take all four canoes over on a sled 
that would hold but two. There was a rush 
for him as he appeared with his cow bell team 
of horses, and with the consequent result that 
two of the canoes had to be backed over the 
carry by man power. It was hard enough to 
get two of the boats and dunnage over on a 
sled, but Maine guides are tough as Maine hack¬ 
matack, and they beat the horsepower sled in 
the three-mile carry. 
On taking to the river again the canoes soon 
encountered rapids, the first known as Gulliver’s 
Pitch, then the Horse Race. Both brought forth 
all the skill that the guides could command in 
avoiding the ledges and rocks which lurked in 
every part of the river. It was like running an 
obstacle race with an upsetting or smashup as 
the penalty for not running the race aright. 
The scenery increased in grandeur as the boats 
neared the Katahdin range. Towering moun¬ 
tains were on all sides, and when the rapids 
had been left behind and the canoe fleet had 
reached Sourdnahunk deadwater, Katahdin it¬ 
self came into view, the third glimpse that the 
climber gets of his prey as he descends the 
river. The noonday meal was eaten over the 
campfire with an appetite that comes from 
swinging a paddle. 
So far the wild life of the trip had consisted 
of a few flocks of ducks, but this meager col¬ 
lection was enlarged and enlivened at the last 
lake by the appearance of a mink running along 
the shore, which seemed disposed to follow the 
boats until one of the women of the party, true 
to woman’s instincts for animal extermination, 
drew a revolver and fired at the helpless mink. 
She did not score a hit, but the mink cared no 
more for our company. 
When the canoes reached Sourdnahunk 
stream, one of the many branch rivulets that 
flow into the Penobscot, the canoe party sepa¬ 
rated, three boats continuing down stream, while 
one, with the guide and myself, took to the 
backwoods to climb Katahdin. The route to the 
base of the mountains was a five-mile hike over 
a rough, rocky sled i*oad. The way had never 
been cleared for wheels. The further inland 
the walk, the wilder the scene, the spruce forest 
having the appearance of never having been vic¬ 
timized by the lumbermen. Late in the after¬ 
noon York’s camp on Dacy Pond was reached, 
and across the mirror surface of the water, 
colored by the sunset, stood Katahdin, big, bold, 
defiant. 
Katahdin is approached by three trails, one 
from the east, known as the east branch, lead¬ 
ing from the eastern arm of the Penobscot, and 
two from the west, termed the Abol and Hunt 
trails. The ascent from Dacy Pond is by the 
Hunt trail, and this path was chosen by the 
guide because he considered it the easier of the 
two trails. My only trail acquaintance is with 
the Hunt, but if this trail is the easier way 
there is certainly room for another “easy” trail 
up Katahdin. It may be cheering news to many 
climbers to know that Joe Francis, a noted 
Maine guide, reports that he is going to cut 
out a quicker and easier Katahdin trail. How¬ 
ever, for the climber who enjoys a real tussle 
with brute nature, he will select the Hunt trail 
by all means, for he gets an unusual variety of 
mountain work. First a canoe trip across the 
lake, next a ramble through a dense forest, and 
on emerging above the timber line he has a 
rocky ridge climb which seems almost perpen¬ 
dicular. From the camp on the lake he has one 
of the finest views of mountain scenery that 
may be obtained from any resort in Maine. 
It was decided on this particular trip to start 
across the lake at 1 p. m., walk through the 
woods and up the mountain part way, camping 
over night, and make the top on the following 
day. With provisions enough in their haver¬ 
sacks for three meals, guide and sportsman be¬ 
gan, the ascent, and at about 4:30 p. m. readily 
reached the tent which is pitched some 2,500 
feet up the mountain side. The camp site is 
a most delightful one, in the midst of a balsam 
fir thicket, while nearby Katahdin Brook went 
rumbling down the slope. As the guide gath¬ 
ered birch for the fire and prepared the evening 
meal, the ruddy red tint of the sunset could 
just be seen through the dark green branches 
of the trees. The scene at night was a most 
weird one, for a heavy wind blew the sparks in 
every direction into the blackness of the forest, 
and a mind unaccustomed to such surroundings 
could imagine he saw all sorts of unearthly 
spectres which were brought to sight by the 
fireworks of the fire. 
At daybreak the climber must arouse himself 
from the final sleep of the first restless night 
in camp, break his fast and strike out for the 
heights above. The beginning of the day was 
a continuation of the last of yesterday’s scram¬ 
ble up the steep side, completely shut in from 
the outside world by the omnipresent evergreen 
forest. Gradually, however, the screen lifted as 
altitude tapered down the trees, and at 8140 a. 
m., when up 3,400 feet, the scrub timber stops 
completely and the tourist gets his first open 
view since he left the shores of Dacy Pond. 
Ahead is a formidable rocky ridge; behind is 
the verdant mountain side. It took but one 
glance to show that the remaining 1,975 feet 
of rise to the top was beset with a path of 
obstacles that were a gentle shock to mountain 
courage. If any amateur mountaineer is look¬ 
ing for rock work he will certainly get it on 
the ridge of Katahdin. 
Here are giant boulders ahead of him, bould¬ 
ers to the right of him, boulders to the left of 
him. And there was no way of outflanking the 
obdurate granite enemy by getting off the ridge 
and then working up, for if you did there was 
a possibility of sliding back to the timber line 
with the consequent loss of human energy, say¬ 
ing nothing of the feelings of human bones. 
The only way was to make the best out of the 
situation and carefully clamber up the rocky 
way, and after two hours of boulder labor the 
party of two were rewarded with reaching the 
spacious tableland that is such a notable feature 
of Katahdin. The barometer registered a height 
of 4,Goo feet, and across the grassy plain some 
two miles away arose the final crag of the sum¬ 
mit. The tableland gave a most welcome change 
of walking after the strain of ascending the 
ridge, as well as affording a variety of different 
viewpoints. By noon the center monuments 
were reached, the barometer recording a height 
of 5,225 feet. The thermometer was fifty. There 
was still more climbing for anyone who wished 
to reach the last monument at the end of the 
crag, and where the summit has been officially 
designated as 5,275 feet above sea level. But 
the center monument where the Appalachian 
Mountain Club has placed a copper box for 
registering, satisfies the majority, who usually 
do not have the extra time or the extra energy 
left to go to the extreme end. 
The view from Katahdin is described in 
Thoreau’s classic, “The Maine Woods,” which 
narrates his exploration of the mountain in 1846. 
Thoreau says: “There it was, the State of 
Maine. No clearing, no house. Countless lakes. 
Moosehead in the southwest like a gleaming 
silver platter. Chesuncook without an island. 
Millinockett with its hundred islands, and a 
hundred other lakes without a name. We could 
overlook the country west and south for a hun¬ 
dred miles.” 
This grand overlook mentioned by Thoreau is 
possible because Katahdin on almost three sides 
stands alone, a giant peak rising out of the com¬ 
parative medium hill country. From one side 
only there extends a series of mountains which 
form the Katahdin range. 
Thoreau in describing his climb relates how 
near the end of the timber line he walked on 
the tops of the scrub trees, a statement gen¬ 
erally ridiculed by Maine people. But Mr. Wil¬ 
son, of the Appalachian Mountain Club, says 
that this feat is possible if anyone pushes away 
from the beaten trail where the forest growth 
is more dense. The mountain apparently affords 
ample opportunity for investigation, for it seems 
to be only traveled by the trails mentioned and 
the immediate vicinity looks to be as wild to¬ 
day as described by Thoreau in 1846. 
The return from the top of the mountain over 
the tableland down the rocky ridges and through 
the wilderness gives the traveler the opportu¬ 
nity of seeing much that was lost sight of dur¬ 
ing the effort expended in getting up. In some 
places descending it looked as if the climber 
might leap to the bottom, so steep was the 
boulder trail. On reaching the end of the stone 
ridge the traveler again strikes the velvet moss 
carpet of the woods, and with a short rest and 
lunch at the tent he keeps on and arrives at the 
shores of the pond by 6 p. m. with that feeling 
of satisfaction which always comes after a climb 
to the top of a mountain. 
The next morning it was walk back to the 
river and once more paddle down stream. Then 
